


Tomorrow Is Another Day

by surprisingrice



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Civil War, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisingrice/pseuds/surprisingrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers in the Civil War. Not like, Captain America: Civil War. Like, "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again!!" Civil War.</p><p>Alternatively:</p><p>Darcy is the headstrong Miss Foster's maid. One night in 1860s New York, an unlikely stranger seems to fall from the sky and land at their feet. Her life is never the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Is Another Day

Chapter One.

When Thor Odinson stumbled onto the kitchen stoop with Mr. Barton Darcy was sure Miss Jane was going to throw a fit. However, by the time Darcy had knocked on her door, Miss Jane hadn’t even shown signs of doing up her hair for the night. 

“Clint!” She had gasped. “I told them you wouldn’t be passing through again for another month!”

The weary traveler shook his head, attending to his injured companion. “Unfortunately the next group won’t be through for awhile yet. I haven’t heard from Mr. Fury about who I was to take up North, and Mrs. Hill told me to get him out of the South as quickly as possible.”

Darcy had long had her suspicions that Mr. Barton had ties to the Underground Railroad. She’d heard Jane discuss it many times with Mr. Rodgers over lunch at Stark Gazette. She’d always found Steve’s old militia friend secretive, but any time she suggested anything, Jane would tell her to hush.

Jane was hushing no one at the moment. She was scavenging for bandages and bedding like a mad woman. Darcy boiled water dutifully, keeping the large blond in the corner of her eye. Mr. Barton was watching her like a hawk while she served him some coffee and grabbed another rag.

“Is he militia?”

Mr. Barton coughs up the coffee distastefully. “Something like that.”

Darcy gets the hint, holding back more of her questions. Jane is full of them, though. Still, Mr. Barton is tight-lipped and simply gives her a letter for Mr. Stark before disappearing. The man is asleep at the table for over an hour, at which point Jane decides there’s enough light to go buy supplies.

As though he’d been waiting, the large man wakes up in an angry fit not forty minutes after Miss Jane had left. Darcy found herself backed against the stove, the only thing in reach the decorated rifle on the floor. Jane had come home to see her maid threatening to shoot a man twice her size. She wasn’t reprimanded, though. Once Mr. Odinson was fed and slowly told what had transpired, Darcy felt easy enough to bring the coffee Jane had requested. Mr. Odinson grimaced at it and asked for tea, which surprised the women.

“Are you a foreigner?” Darcy couldn’t help from blurting.

“Hardly,” The man laughed, his long blond hair falling loose from the tie. “I’m born and raised Virginian. I spent my school years abroad, however.”  
Darcy studies him and wonders what Mr. Barton was thinking, to bring someone so alien to Miss Jane’s abolitionist hearth. The lady in question must’ve thought the same thing, not being afraid to tactfully pry for more about his history.

The picture Mr. Odinson paints of his home forms in vivid gold and rose hues. Sprawling fields, home befitting of an Olympian. His eyes light up when talking about the picnics his parents would throw. To Darcy, who’d lived in New York her whole life, it sounds like the feasts of King Arthur-- impossibly extravagant and grandiose. 

For someone once so well off, he looked worse for wear before them huddled by their fire. She goes to bed at Jane’s dismissal, turning the lights low as they leave him to rest. Before Darcy closes her door, she hears Mr. Odinson utter a thank you over the crackling fire. 

“I’d feel safer, Mr. Odinson, should you leave your gun with your coat.” Jane’s voice his firm, showing no insecurity.

He agrees. “It was a gift from my father. One that came with a blessing I did not deserve.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

His laugh rolls low, like thunder. “I have many sins in my ledger, Miss Foster. Dishonoring my father is only one of them I’m afraid. Your hospitality is unwarranted. You must trust Mr. Barton deeply.”

“We met by accident a long time ago. Our trust is necessary to carry out the promises we make.” Though Darcy can’t see Jane, she see’s her silhouette splashed against the railing, ready to close the door.

“The Railroad?” Mr. Odinson says tentatively.

Jane’s answer is either withheld or so soft Darcy can’t make it out as she places the rifle against the wall. 

“You must be a very brave woman.” Darcy doesn’t have to see him say it to know there’s admiration in his eyes. 

“Hardly,” Jane flirts, and closes the door to his room.

Darcy hears Jane’s steps fade to the upper room and settles into her bed again. Tomorrow was a big day for the Gazette, and Darcy knew she’d be running back and forth with coffee while Mr. Stark shouted at his journalists for refusing to write about anything but the abolitionist movement. Miss Jane’s penchant for radicalism reminded Darcy of a steam engine, the way it forged into the unknown relentlessly. She just hoped Jane and Mr. Rodgers could win their strike before they ran out of tea and biscuits for their houseguest.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and Review! :)
> 
> Also, don't worry, I'm still working on Fate :)
> 
> xx


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